Jane Kaufman: A Smith College practice room contains secrets to the soul

View full sizeJane Kaufman in her Northampton apartment.Don Treeger/The Republican

Some years ago, I was in therapy with a gentle social worker.

As part of the technique she and I were going to try, she encouraged me to establish a safe place. This would be an easily imagined spot I could return to whenever needed as I delved into memories and attempted to reframe and soften their impact on my mind, body and soul.

This idea of a safe place was new to me.

At first, I chose the grassy bank of a pond near my childhood home. I have particularly fond memories of picnicking there. There were ducks to feed. The pond was not large, but it was surrounded by magnificent homes. And when I was there, I was always accompanied by a caring adult.

However, for whatever reason, that safe place didn’t stick.

My safe place quickly became the interior of the practice rooms at Smith College, where I secretly trespassed (years ago, not now) locking the doors from the inside by pulling the brass handles up and then playing very badly “Every Time We Say Goodbye” and other standards. I loved those hours.

Each practice room on the main floor of Sweeney Hall had a beat up Steinway, at least each did the last time I was there. It’s possible they’ve all been replaced with new pianos by now. The pianos were so well used that there were scuff marks across the keyboard covers. I’ve never seen this kind of damage on any piano except those at Smith. They were, amazingly, generally kept in good tune.

In addition, the practice rooms had pink signs in them that listed forbidden activities: drinking, eating, smoking, etc. The last item on the list was swimming.

These rooms also contained mirrors, ostensibly so musicians could watch themselves practice. And each had a tall window that could be opened, with a beige translucent blind that could be adjusted according to the taste of the pianist. There were large leafy trees outside that cast dappled shadows on the blinds or into the room. And the rooms were carpeted in a mild forest green nub. The rooms were not large, just large enough for the piano really, but they did not feel cramped. They felt cozy.

I used to sneak into these rooms and practice occasionally, usually mid-afternoon, just as the light was turning from gold to amber, a time of day I have always equated with sadness.

The Steinways, having been so heavily played, were loud, and the action was quite easy. That means the keys pressed down with very little effort. This worried me because the rooms weren’t sound proof. I figured everyone else would be doing real, classical or jazz piano. It would be pretty easy to spot me as an amateur and a beginner.

It’s surprising to me that I chose this as a safe place because I always felt a slight bit of unease while practicing there. What if someone knocked at the door? What if I were arrested? What if?

I’m not sure what I thought would happen if it were found out that I was not a Smith student, but I did worry. And I also relished my time there. The slight feeling of naughtiness added to the delight of the moment. I felt I was getting away with something.